The chill that spiced the soft breeze bought a shiver down her spine and left goosebumps on her skin. The weather grew progressively colder as they travelled north, it reminded Arya Stark of her home in Winterfell. Mother, Jon, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Sansa.

Father.

It had been more than three weeks since she left King's Landing, since she heard the sound of Illyn Payne's Valyrian steel sword slice through her father's neck. Survival was her first priority. She disguised herself as a boy as she travelled with a bunch of criminals, bastards and outcasts, for, she was told by Yoren, that if she travelled as a girl, she would be found, raped and sent to Queen Cersei. She listened to the flow of the stream and the chirping of the birds as she collected firewood in the lush, green foliage, picking up each branch and examining it before adding it to the pile she carried between her left biceps and forearm.

Deciding that she could not carry any more, she walked back towards camp, where she knew Gendry would be waiting for her. Gendry had been nice to her since day one. He was stout, muscular, had a shaggy head full of black hair, blue eyes and a kind smile. Having previously been an armorer's apprentice, the boy of about fourteen was as strong and stubborn as a grown bull, (which according to him, accounted for his bull head helmet) and Arya was glad to have him as a companion. They watched out for eachother and thought of him somewhat like her favourite brother Jon.

Arya eyed the three caged prisoners curiously as she walked past them, her forehead wrinkled so that her bushy eyebrows almost touched. Her incredulous gaze was met by a man of around twenty-five to thirty years who had strange red shoulder length hair with strands of silvery white, a slim pointy nose and striking grey-blue eyes, not unlike her own.

"Boy, lovely boy." he called to her in a raspy whisper
"What?" she replied, cautiously as she approached, subconsciously noting Needle's slap against her leg, as if the pointy little sword was sending her a message of warning.
"A man has a thirst, this lovely boy could make a friend" he said softly in the common tongue that mingled with a foreign accent, holding out a tankard.
"I have friends!" she said, insulted.
Suddenly, one of the other prisoner sprang forward and growled at her. The man resembled a vicious beast without a snout, his fangs were bared as he snarled.
"Beer" he growled through his teeth, "Get us beer! Or I'll skin you." Soon, the third prisoner joined in. The first prisoner looked apologetically at Arya and bowed his head. He shot a sharp glance at the other two and they went magically mute.
"A man does not chose his companions" he said, "These two have no courtesy, I must ask for forgiveness."
When she did not respond, he continued,
"You're called...Arry?" he asked
She nodded.
"This man has the honour to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the free city of Lorath"
"Get us BEER you little shite!" interrupted the second prisoner sinisterly.
Arya had had enough. She angrily threw all her branches to the ground, drew her wooden practice sword and began beating furiously at the prisoner. She wanted to teach him a lesson, as if the act were a sudden outlet of her bottled rage, she bashed at the steel cage over and over, jabbing her sword into his flesh, rattling the bars and sending the prisoner a few inches back to avoid being whacked. Although her father had died, she was still a Stark of Winterfell and Starks of Winterfell were not ordered around by prisoners, especially not ugly prisoners with no manners! She saw that the first prisoner wore a smirk on his face all the while.
"Come closer and I'll shove the stick up your arse and fuck you bloody!" threatened the second prisoner.
At that, Arya, drew back and began to withdraw from close proximity of the cage, the rush of adrenaline had passed and the feeling of fear hit her hard. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself.
"A boy has more courage than sense..." the first prisoner noted, as Arya recollected the scattered branches and walked briskly away.

"Yoren said we're not supposed to go near those three!" chided Gendry, slightly alarmed as Arya recounted the encounter later that afternoon.

"They don't scare me!" said Arya, putting on her brave voice.
"Well you're stupid, 'cause they scare the seven hells out of me." Gendry replied.

Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie were already fast asleep. That evening she sat before the fire, deep in thought. Calling the episode involving the Gold Cloaks a 'shock' would have been a bit of an understatement. As if to drive any worry of the Gold Cloaks from her mind, she suddenly remembered the handsome Lorathi. Arya replayed their brief conversation, head swimming in even more questions, drawn by the element of mystery that surrounded him; how did he end up in the dungeon in King's Landing? What had he done? What happened to his weird hair? The stranger seemed intriguing compared to the Gold Cloaks, those, she did not want to think about...

Arya grabbed her tankard and tiptoed to the beer barrel, trying desperately to minimise the sound of crunching leaves under her small feet. She poured some beer into the tankard and made her way towards the cage. All three prisoners seemed to be fast asleep. The Lorathi man sat up straight with his head bowed, while the other two leaned into the bars in awkward positions, snoring rudely. Disappointed, Arya turned to leave but stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of fluttering eyelids on the sleepy Lorathi man, as if her sensed her presence.
"Did the lovely boy bring a man his drink?" he rasped, while his eyes remained closed and his head remained bowed.
"How did you know I was..." she began
"A man can listen with his ears." he replied casually, now fully facing Arya with his eyes wide open.
She handed and tankard to him through the bars of his cage and watched silently as he thirstily chugged down its contents , his adam's apple jolting up and down.
"Would this lovely boy kindly fetch another?" he asked.
She did as she was bid and returned with another beer, again, handing it over. This time, he drank slowly, almost gracefully, taking one sip at a time, slowing down his rate of consumption. Still, the girl stared at him, puzzled.

Finally, the Lorathi man stopped drinking and addressed her.
"A boy has many questions" he stated.
"Who are you really and why are you here?" she blurted, as if she had no control over her tongue.
"As I told you before, this man is currently Jaqen H'ghar, from Lorath." he said, smiling, "A boy needs not know much about this man, just that he has made a new friend. Now go boy, off to sleep, before you get into trouble for this, before my two unruly companions threaten you again. A man has heard that tomorrow will a long and tiring march. A boy will need as much sleep as he can obtain before first light." Arya noticed he now spoke in a soft, rich, low baritone rather than a raspy whisper and wondered if this was his real voice. The voice sounded lovely in her ears, she found it rather... captivating.
"But I can't sleep." She protested, simply wanting to hear more of the sound. He looked at her for a second, considering. Finally, he extended his arm towards her, returning the cup, "Drink, and a boy will sleep soundly." he said. Their fingers brushed as she reached for her cup, the contact left her embarrassed, so she hid her face from him by drinking all the leftover beer. It tasted rough and strangely bland, very different from the beer she had tried back at Winterfell. It left a horribly sour aftertaste, but she felt content and decided she was tired after all.
"Alright. I'm going to sleep," Arya declared.
"Good night, lovely boy" he whispered as she turned abruptly on her heels and strode quickly and quietly back towards the dying campfire to join Gendry and the others.
"Good night Jaqen H'ghar." she replied under her breath, not bothering to look back, quite sure he had not heard her.

His low chuckle told her otherwise.